Gaara Gets A Cold
by Dilly-Oh
Summary: Gaara gets sick, and it's up to Temari and Kankuro to show him that they care. A cute, short story featuring Gaara and his siblings. Aww...Enjoy!


Author's Note: Yeah, I decided to write something other than comedies for once and branch out a little. And I also did it because I love Gaara. And boy, does he need it.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Naruto.

Gaara Gets a Cold

Gaara had a cold.

_He_ didn't know what it was, but it was terrible. It made his nose run so that he sniffled incessantly and had to wipe it every few minutes. His bones ached like an old man's and he felt so weak that he didn't even venture out of his room that morning. His throat hurt more than it did that time he went to a Ninja Slugfest with Naruto and some other Konoha teenagers and he screamed at the fighters to kill each other for over an hour.

It had started sometime during the night, while he was out on the roof gazing at the moon. Since the help he received from Naruto, he saw the moon as more peaceful and serene than violence-inducing. There had been a cold breeze coming in from the east that made goose-bumps break out over his skin, but he had ignored it, wanting to experience more of the calm feeling that was so new to him. After several hours of silent meditation, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself for warmth, he started feeling strange.

At first, he'd thought he'd been poisoned and was going to die, but knew that was impossible. His sand would have kicked in and stopped him from eating or touching whatever was poisoned, so it couldn't be that. Whatever it was, Gaara hated it. He wanted it gone. And if he ever did get rid of it, he never wanted to get it again. EVER.

He had bundled himself up in his bed, where it was comfortable at least, feeling cold and chilly, and now lay with his head under the covers, sniffling and utterly miserable. His throat would tickle now and again, and he would instinctively cough to try to rid it of the sensation. This only made his throat feel worse and now it throbbed like nothing he'd ever felt before. He wanted to get up and do something to get his mind off the pain but there was no energy he could spare. So he lay there shivering and sniffling.

He cursed Shukaku. Wasn't he or his mother's spirit supposed to protect him from this sort of thing? Sure, it was different from bruises and scratches one got from tripping or bumping into things (which he never had to worry about due to the protective sand constantly keeping watch over him), but he still felt cheated. Stupid demon. Stupid mom.

He'd been laying in his bed for what seemed like an eternity when someone knocked on his door. Wiping his newest collection of mucus from his nose, he vainly tried to clear his throat and croaked out.

"Come in."

Kankuro eased the door open and poked his head in, a little hesitant to enter the lair of his younger brother who a few months ago would have slaughtered him had he dared disturb him. He was surprised to see a lump on the bed, which Gaara usually never bothered with, since he never slept.

"Gaara?" He asked. "What are you doing in bed?"

"Dying." Was the answer. Kankuro scowled, confused. He had left off his purple face paint and pointed hat for the day and sported a plain grey t-shirt with black pants. He inched nervously into the room, not knowing whether Gaara would kill him or not if he came in.

"Whadda ya mean? You okay?" He bent over the huddled up form of his brother and peered closely. Reaching forward, he gently pulled back the covers, tensing in anticipation of an attack. There was none. Kankuro's eyes widened at the sight.

"I don't feel good." Gaara sniffled, sitting up and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He wore a rumpled white shirt and dark blue pajama pants. Gaara's usually spiky (but neat) hair was in disarray, flattened in some places and jutting out in others. The permanent dark circles around his eyes seemed larger than usual, and were red and watery. His nose was also red and sore, with snot dribbling out. He was a far cry from the immaculate, untouchable Gaara Kankuro had known nearly all his life. He looked damn horrible.

"I think you have a cold, Gaara." Kankuro said as he placed a hand on his brother's forehead. He recoiled slightly at the contact, but then sat still. Good. No fever. "I don't think it's too serious."

"A cold?" Gaara squinted. "What's a cold?" Kankuro rolled his eyes.

"Aww, c'mon, Gaara," he sighed, "you know what a cold is. Everyone gets one. I've gotten plenty. I'm sure that even you…" he paused, thinking. Strangely enough, he couldn't remember a single instance where Gaara had gotten sick before. This must be his first time. Damn, that kid must have a killer immune system.

"Am I going to die?" Gaara asked, a hint of panic entering his voice. Kankuro blinked. Damn. Of course he'd be scared. Gaara'd never gotten sick before. He had no idea what the hell was going on. Better to let him know than be freaked out. He might start killing people again.

"A cold is what happens when something bad gets into your body," he explained. "It sorta messes things up. So your body starts to fight back. That's what it's probably doing now. Fighting the infection. You'll get better in a few days, and then you'll be fine." Gaara looked up hopefully.

"Really?" He couldn't wait for this cursed thing to leave. And never come back.

"Really." Kankuro assured him. "In fact, I'll go tell Temari to make some soup for you, kay?"

"Why soup?" Gaara asked. Kankuro paused from straightening.

"Well…" he began, "you just always eat soup when you're sick. I mean, I've always eaten soup. Temari too. And others. It's…" He scratched his earth-colored hair. "It's just something you do when you're sick. It's a way for the people who make it for you to let you know that they care and want you to get better. Allright?"

Gaara sat quietly on his bed, sniffling softly, thinking this over.

"Okay."

Kankuro grinned and walked out of the room.

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"Gaara's sick."

"What?" Temari dropped her cloth. Her fan rested against one of her legs as she sat on a chair in the kitchen, polishing her prized weapon. Hey, it would get all rusty if she didn't clean it now and then, and she wasn't like Kankuro, who treated everything he owned (except for his precious puppets) like it was made out of unbreakable material and then complained when it finally did break. She wanted her weapon to be in perfect working condition at all times, and especially during missions, when one's life could be in danger at all times.

"Gaara's sick." Kankuro repeated, crossing his arms and looking at his sister. She bent over and scooped up her rag. Running it over the cool steel of her fan, she tried to think of the last time Gaara was sick.

"Has Gaara ever been-"

"No."

She couldn't believe it, but Kankuro was right. Even if he couldn't, she would have been able to remember if Gaara had ever caught anything. And she had no memory of him ever doing so.

"What's wrong with him? Upset stomach? Flu?"

"He's got a cold." Kankuro poked his head into the fridge to see if there was anything worth snacking on. "I told him you'd make him soup to help him get better."

Temari looked down at her fan, her work still half-finished. It would do. Sighing, she pushed it aside.

"Fine." There were more important things than weapons to take care of in this house.

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Gaara shivered in his cocoon of blankets atop his bed. This 'cold' he had gotten was the worst. No matter how many blankets he piled on or layers of clothing he donned, he still felt cold. And while he'd figured out that using bathroom tissue to wipe the mucus from his nose was better than using his hand, it showed no signs of relenting anytime soon. His body still ached and now his head hurt and his nose was sore from wiping it so much and he was freezing his ass off.

If he ever got his hands on who or what had caused him to experience this misery, he didn't think he could stop himself from wiping its existence off the face of the earth.

A tentative knock jerked him from his murderous thoughts.

"Come in," he said hoarsely.

The door opened, and a delicious aroma wafted in. Even with his nostrils plugged up with so much extra mucus, Gaara could still smell it, though just barely. Temari entered with a bowl full of steaming broth in her hands. She smiled nervously.

"Um…hey, Gaara. Kankuro told me you were sick, so…" she held out the bowl. "Here." Gaara took it, careful not to burn his hands.

"You made this?"

"Yeah." She blushed, embarrassed. "I made Kankuro help me, too."

"My precious fingers…" Kankuro moaned from the hall. "Look, they're all cut and bleeding…"

"Shut up!" Temari barked toward the door. "It's not my fault you suck at chopping vegetables!"

"Yeah, well I hope Gaara likes bloody carrots and celery in his soup!" Kankuro shot back.

A small smile tugged at Gaara's lips.

"Don't mind him," Temari said, turning back to Gaara. "He's just being a baby. Make sure to eat it all up, okay?" She moved to leave.

"Why did you make this for me?" Gaara asked softly. Temari stopped and looked back at her baby brother.

"Well…because…we want you to get better…" she answered, unsure. Gaara shook his head.

"No…" He stopped, frowning. "I mean…why did you…make this…for me?" He didn't know how to ask any other way. Temari suddenly realized what Gaara meant.

"We made it for you," she began, facing him now, "because we want to show you we care, and want you to get better soon." She stopped as Gaara stared at her, baffled. "It means we love you."

Gaara blinked in surprise, then looked away. He was even more shocked when he suddenly felt warm arms encircling him as Temari pulled him close and gave him a quick hug. Apparently she had no qualms for touching her younger brother, while Kankuro would take a while longer.

She pulled away and flashed him a warm smile. Gaara was speechless.

"Alright, Kankuro," she called over her shoulder. "Your turn now."

Kankuro peeked in from the hall. "What, give him a hug? Are you friggin' kidding me? I'm not into that touchy-feely crap!"

"Kankuro, you get your ass over here and _hug _your brother!" Temari whirled around and started toward him.

"_Make_ me, woman!" Kankuro took off down the hall, toward the safety of his room. Temari sped after him.

Gaara was deaf to the ensuing cries of pain and hollering, followed by the sounds of slaps and hair-pulling. He stared into his bowl of soup, at the reflection of himself, at the carefully cut bits of carrots of celery, at the thick, healthy broth, and inhaled the wonderful scent.

Maybe getting a cold wasn't so bad.

The End

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

Author's Note: Feel free to check out my other fanfics. They're all comedies and were a blast to write. Read and review!


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